


bargain bin

by stubborn_jerk



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Awkward Flirting, Canon Compliant, Fluff, Footnotes, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, Sentimental
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-03
Updated: 2019-12-03
Packaged: 2021-02-18 11:47:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,629
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21660337
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stubborn_jerk/pseuds/stubborn_jerk
Summary: “You’re still wearing that?” he asked, like they hadn’t seen each other just a few years ago and he hadn’t asked the same question.“When you replace your motorcar, I will change my clothes,” Aziraphale bargained.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 39





	bargain bin

**Author's Note:**

> tw: there's a referenced overdose death somewhere in there. nothing too serious, just stated, but there's a heads up, if you want.

Aziraphale stood in front of his tailor’s, blankly staring at the new cuts and cloths on the bay side window. He tried to ignore his own reflection in the glass but couldn’t manage to completely set it aside. Behind him, the greyness of the London street stood in stark contrast to the lighter grey of the cloudy sky.

It didn’t look like rain, but London had temperamental weather nowadays. Aziraphale could still remember a time when it was all just mist and never showered. The world kept coming to something. If it wasn’t bombs and smoke and wars, it was the perpetual change in air quality.

Aziraphale could feel it in his wings. The dirt and dust reached into the ether with a vengeance he thought only demons could possess. 

“Are you going to just stand there, sir?”

He blinked, turning to see a grimy-looking child standing beside him on the sidewalk. They stared up at him with unseeing grey eyes, not really asking out of curiosity but out of rote politeness.

“Er.” He was usually more coherent, but all he could think of was smoke and ruin, flashing snake eyes and the feel of smooth fingers passing rough leather. Angels weren’t meant to be creatures of sentiment, Aziraphale thought. Then again, he supposed he was a sorry excuse for one, yearning for a de—

“You short on money or what?”

“What?”

“For the tailor’s, sir,” was the child’s exasperated response.

Aziraphale glanced back at the shop. “N-no, just contemplating if I should buy. I’ve grown a bit, er, sentimental, as it is. Something happened last night that I just…”

The child hummed, disinterest clear in their tone. “Buy something new anyway,” they decided. “To commiserate, or somethin’.”

“Commemorate.”

“Bless you.”

Mistaking this for an actual blessing, Aziraphale smiled, “Thank you.”

The child gave him a look, shrugged, then strode away with all the confidence of a child who didn’t have much to live for anymore.

With some hesitation, Aziraphale pushed his way past the door*.

[*Unbeknownst to him, the child grinned, then disappeared. She works in mysterious ways, after all.]

* * *

Crowley sniffed derisively up at him when he found their bench at the park, like he hadn’t called Aziraphale in the middle of the night, deep fear shaking his voice as he told him about the catalyst of Armageddon. He was just like that, Crowley, always covering up. If it wasn’t the sunglasses, it was the grins and derision.

“You’re _still_ wearing that?” he asked, like they hadn’t seen each other just a few years ago and he hadn’t asked the same question.

“When you replace your motorcar*, I will change my clothes,” Aziraphale bargained. He’d gotten a bit used to that. Bargains were his temptation forte, one could say, where Crowley’s were more on the curse side of things.

[*“Don’t call it a moto—bugger it, you bastard. You’re doing it on purpose**.”

** He was.]

It wasn’t that Aziraphale was _that_ sentimental about his clothes. When it came down to it, it wasn’t like he loved the camelhair coat an awful lot. The vest it came with was weathered down by the buttons, and he was due on replacing the tartan bowtie any day now, with how easily it came loose.

The smell of the Blitz was long gone, replaced with the new cologne his barber suggested. He had a closet and a few coat hangers full of more modern clothes by now. But Aziraphale was nothing if not a creature of comforts and he grew used to the snugness of his blue dress shirt and weathered-down vest. 

Crowley grumbled, “Over my dead garden, angel.”

“Precisely. Now, we came here to talk about your assignment last night, in case you’ve forgotten so, as the Americans say, do get off my case about it.” Aziraphale huffed as he plopped down on the seat beside the demon and rearranged himself.

Crowley turned his head and stared at him in that way that made Aziraphale feel just a bit defensive, like Crowley was scoffing and squinting at him just with the twitching corner of his mouth and covered eyes. 

After another long moment of unnerving staring, he gave a dramatic shrug. “Suit yourself. Not like it’s the end of the world—oh, wait.” Crowley grinned, deadpan, inclining his head in that deeply condescending way Aziraphale knew he picked up from the angel sometime in the 15th century*. “Yes, it is.”

[*The witch hunts had Aziraphale on edge that entire century so, pardon him for being tetchy.]

“Oh, _really_.”

* * *

“How come you have so many of these?” Crowley asked, holding up the sheer tights in the light as he shimmied out of his tight pocketless jeans*. “This is, what, the third one I’ve filched from you? I’m not sorry for Warlock ripping them so much, you know.”

[*Fast fashion was the one of the few things they both agreed was Hell’s idea**.

**It wasn’t. Ortega had a reservation in Hell though, Lucifer was a big fan.]

Aziraphale huffed, very much caring that Warlock kept ripping them. “You haven’t been filching, dear, now do hurry up or we’ll be late.”

“Now I _know_ that’s a lie. Angels don’t lie, angel.”

“Hush, Nanny. It’s unbecoming of you.”

* * *

Aziraphale hadn’t really the time to feel terribly remorseful about his flat and shop on the afternoon of the end of the world. He was too preoccupied with trying not to have the world end prematurely, as it were, so pardon him.

As he shifted from foot to foot on the escalator up to Earth, he prayed that maybe Adam had restored _everything_ , not just what he thought Aziraphale and Crowley and the rest of the world wouldn’t miss. Was Adam omniscient like Yeshua was, he wondered. Would he just _know*_?

[*They were and Adam _had_ made him aware of it, but Aziraphale hadn’t been himself this morning** and had forgotten about that moment on the tarmac.

**Literally.]

On the cab ride over to Hyde Park, he decided that, no matter what had returned, he wouldn’t be terribly disappointed. “I can buy it again,” he muttered to himself, ignoring how Crowley’s mouth garbled the words up a bit.

“What was that?” asked the driver.

“Nothing. Oh, just here’s fine.” Aziraphale miracled the fee into his palm. “Thank you kindly.”

The driver squinted at him over the rearview mirror. “Y’know, lad, you don’t seem the type to be polite.”

Aziraphale gave him what he felt was Crowley’s signature devilish smile. “I get that a lot. Mind how you go!”

* * *

He was humming as he flitted through shelves. The bell to the shop had rang twice in the past two minutes and he could _feel_ Crowley’s presence between the shelves like a promise, but Crowley would come calling if he needed anything and any customers who wanted assistance would have to answer to him now that he was here.

A. Z. Fell & Co. didn’t have the ‘& Co.’ part for nothing, mind you. Plus, Crowley’s name was on the lease*. It was the least he could do.

[*Blessedly enough, Heaven did not believe in paperwork. There were no Lords of the Files anywhere near Heaven, thank you very much.]

Going up on the tips of his closed-shoes, Aziraphale reached up to shelf one of the books in his arms when he paused, blinking up at the book in his hand. _Good Omens_ , read the paperback cover, all white and in red text. Curious.

He didn’t remember adding this in the inventory, not especially on the list of things Adam added.

“Angel—” 

Aziraphale got back down on his heels, putting the book on a reachable shelf. “Just a moment, dear, I believe I just found something Adam added to the store just now. You can start the kettle while you wait. Be there in two shakes.”

“Uh,” a cleared throat. “What’s the occasion? Was I rushing you? Wasn’t rushing you.”

 _That_ made Aziraphale look up at his counterpart. “Alright there, dear? I’ll listen, we can reshelf these together.”

Crowley leaned against a shelf, looking awfully feverish.

“Have you caught something?” The last time Crowley caught something, he was overdosing and hadn’t realize it*. This behaviour concerned him very much so.

[*Beatles hype, 70s. He’d been doing an assignment over on Wall Street. Crowley hadn’t meant to overdose, just that he didn’t know the proper amount he had to take. It had taken them three days to notice the rotting smell before they realized that Crowley had discorporated.]

“Er, just. Wardrobe change, huh?”

Aziraphale blinked, then huffed. “Oh, you mustn’t distract. Your health is a concern, dear. None of that.”

“N-no! No, I’m serious. Just, caught me off-guard, angel. Shit.”

He glared up at Crowley, feeling terribly caught out for being too concerned and, for the first time in weeks, shy, then stomped over to shove a few books into Crowley’s arms. “Help me shelf, you _serpent_.”

“I thought I was getting tea?” A smile started pulling up at the side of that awful, beautiful mouth.

“You don’t now, for distracting me and then—Just go.”

“Nice dress, it suits you. Mean it, angel. The blue lace brings out your eyes.”

It _was_ a nice dress. Aziraphale had bought it with a dark blue overcoat and a sunhat in the 50s, when evening gloves had begun trending again. He wasn’t much for jewelry, but Crowley _had_ gifted him a few wing motifs* throughout their years.

[*Ironically**.

** Aziraphale unironically loved them.]

Aziraphale got lost between shelves, ignoring the heat on the tips of his ears and the heaviness of his earrings on his earlobes. He bargained, because he was good at bargained temptations, “If you wish to continue flirting with me, you’ll have to buy me dinner, dear.”

Silence, then, “Deal.”

**Author's Note:**

> alt title: in which aziraphale finally becomes the old queen he is
> 
> anyway, i was writing up a new thing and found this one in my folders. it seemed good so i went in and finished it for past me. i totally forgot i wrote it so, hope you enjoyed it!
> 
> my tumblr is [here](https://stubbornjerk.tumblr.com)


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